[NoR] - [04] - Damnation

Branches bent sharply as they creaked out of the way of the new arrival. The space cracked with arcs of frozen plasma, the tear composing itself into the silhouette of the ‘Walker. Razel stepped into the thick woods, blithely snapping twigs underfoot. A small filigree sphere much like the one at his retreat floated at the small of his back, the tumultuous vapors within emitting a faint blue glow. He wore a flowing skirt to hide his footfalls, plated kama dangling from each hip. His torso was bare, while his breath was barely visible. The dull roar of celebration echoed through the trees, drowning out the local fauna. As the trek continued, frost began to form around his fingers. Cold began to encrust his flesh, covering him in a thin layer of ice that matched his every motion. The air around him began to fog slightly as it condensed in his wake. The wood abruptly ended at a harsh cliff, overlooking the grand city nestled at the base of the mountain.

Razel peered over the clearing that had been built up defensively over the past decade since his last visit. A few layers of shimmer announced the presence of several magical shields erected over the city, each a slightly different color, some scintillating in opalescent boredom. The city itself was still in the throes of the week-long festival, a sea of revelry and praise to the two great horns rising from the center of town. A monumental gem floated lazily between their high, curved points, signifying to all the glory of the Great Dragon Ol’as. The City’s outer walls were tall and thick, busy with countless sentries and archers. Their eyes lazily scanned the tree line, waiting for an uninvited guest. The majority of the populace sang and danced about, taking the chance to enjoy the once in a decade festival while it lasted, while a few of the older citizens stayed hidden away until afterward. Banners flapped about each street corner, most depicting the horns and their faceted captive. Along the main street, however, the banners shed the bright red in favor of a dark purple, warning away the revelers. A crystalline skull was emblazoned over a blue flame embroidered into the fabric. The fires ran from the main gate directly to the statue in the hub of the city, clearing a path littered with an excess of patrols, warriors, and glory seekers. The road to the statue was set out in anticipation of the Dark force that had appeared some celebrations back, only to reappear at each festival since, never on the same day.

Razel smiled wide as he surveyed the path laid before him, his teeth baring as the flesh crept back from his head, compacting and smoothing below his barren, levitating skull. The frost enveloped the newly exposed skin where his neck used to be, and his cranium began to crystallize. The fog about him thickened, while his rime let out a faint violet glow. His skull, stark within the translucent ice, flexed its jaw within the cold as his sockets blackened into a void. A voice creaked sickly from behind his face.

“When will they learn?”

[Continued from Razel’s Journal]

I found that the door out of the ‘interview’ room did not lead back to where I had come from. I was greeted by the same stony individual from before, who smiled warmly at me.

“Welcome to the Academy. I’m glad you made the right choice. My name is Rokhi. You can call me Rokh. What shall I call you?”

The answer was not readily apparent to me. My mind still felt clouded with various magics, and the fog was very slow to lift. My first answer, I hesitated with. I was unsure of my origin. My mind seemed to have been meddled with, although how I knew that was not immediately apparent. I hid my first name away, and instead offered and simultaneously accepted my second.

“I...I am Razel. Razel Korr. The choice wasn’t very difficult. Ominous, but not difficult.”

Rokh placed a hand on my shoulder, leading me down the extravagant hallway. Busts stared at us accusingly, guiding us to another series of doors.

“Well Razel, The first thing you’re going to consciously learn here is how to get about. You remember the large, circular hall of doors from before? Before your screening?”

His choice of words unnerved me. The fact that I understood them unnerved me more.

“I do. Similar to this one, but these doors are all different. Those were all the same, mostly.”

“Well, here’s the thing; most of the time here, it doesn’t matter what door you pick. What matters is where you want to go. Watch; pick any door, and open it. It will be a small apartment, just right for you...but only if that’s what you’re sure is behind that door.”

There were several things I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t have believed about that had I access to the knowledge of my previous life, but several things that day still fit that description. Instead, I simply walked to the most appealing aperture and opened it.

The small cavern within appeared to be completely empty, with a soft blue glow from the ceiling. The room itself appeared to be a hollow in a massive glacier, yet the temperature was of moderate warmth.

“I sort of cheated,” Rokh explained, “since by telling you what to expect, you expected it. Suffice to say, the doors here take you wherever you want to go within the academy.”

It was perfect. I stepped inside, Rokh following close behind. The room, it would seem, had been generated for me immediately following the ‘screening’. Rokh was very congenial, and we spent many hours discussing the finer points of life as a ‘Planeswalker’, as well as the nature of our power. It was explained that I was now a magic user of great potential. The word ‘planeswalker’ referred to an inborn ability to walk from plane of existence to plane of existence at will, which by its nature bestowed a great amount of arcane power. I now wielded a connection to the very fabric of existence about me. As a ‘walker, the ability to warp your surroundings relied on utilization of an energy referred to as ‘Mana’; omnipresent, underlying power weaved through all things. Countless ways existed to collect and redistribute it, from complicated rituals involving absorbing the worship of a random populace to one of my favorites, caging a compacted sun forged purely of the raw mana itself. Rokh went on to explain that the best connection to mana was forged through memories, allowing someone with connections to the energies of the land to draw its power, regardless of distance, simply through memory. With enough preparation one could draw enough energy to cleanse a plane, while on the fly you may only be capable of a quick bolt of plasma. The finer points would be covered in later lessons.

The closest and faintest of the shields flickered wildly as Razel approached, the fog trailing after him as he strode towards the City. A great horn rung out, immediately silencing the celebrations. A few scattered screams pierced the air, but the quiet quickly regained hold. Younger children dashed, confused, to their parents. Older children either ran to hide or to watch, filling the alleys along the main thoroughfare. The citizenry dispersed the path leading from the gate to the plaza, while scattered pockets of soldiers, guards, and desperate priests stood as the only opposition to the dark force approaching.

A small hole appeared in the shimmering shield, widening as the mage approached and sealing neatly behind him. Each of the bubbles followed suit, giving way to the icy presence. The cry of the first archer was followed by a rain of arrows, the closest landing just within the reaches of the incoming fog. His stride unbroken, the second volley missed by the same margin, while the third curved just enough to keep the same distance. The bows were discarded as their wielders scrambled to evacuate the platform atop the wall.

The main entry into the city was a massive door, crackling with protective magic. The sharp white light emitted by the power flashing across the surface served only to thicken the mist, now shrouding the ‘walker within. A lone dignitary stood atop the entryway.

“Dark one! We are not afraid of you! We wi-”

Razel paid him no mind. With a raise of his hand and a flick of his wrist, the wall before him crumbled away as the sudden weight of its entire existence condensed into a single moment. The dust clouded the entryway, pierced by sudden magical assault. Spell after spell ripped down the street, each melting off of the field afforded him by his Witchbane Orb. Wading through the magic and dust, a group of soldiers charged him from the closest alleyway. Each kissed the ground as frozen, bony limbs tore through the pavement to grab at their ankles. The emerging rime-bound dead clawed dully at their victims. A mage stepped forth, his blindfold whipping in the wind as he dramatically lobbed a large fireball. No sign was given of recognition as it warped harmlessly around the fog, not impeding the Dark one’s progress in the slightest. The flame crashed loudly into the building opposite, igniting a banner. Another gesture sent the interloper crashing into the nearest wall. Lurching to his feet, the sightless sorcerer sought escape. The trail of mist behind Razel persisted as he grew closer to his goal. Many of the magicians realized the futility of their tactics, and fled. Two more patrolmen charged him, swords outstretched, screaming wildly. A single hand rose, two fingers directing the shadows that erupted from his feet. The void shot along the ground, absorbing both of the security guards whole. Several of the attention seekers fled, while one stepped up to face their foe. The ‘hero’ swung aloft a large sword, itself leaving a slight afterimage as it went. Grand motions were ignored as the force kept walking, while a single great sweep brought the blade to bear. Razel calmly caught the edge with an outstretched hand, the wielder breaking like glass, each fragment shattering again and again until there was naught but the vapor of a hero. His weapon was thrown recklessly aside, finding new purchase in the heart of a fine bronze statue. The ring of metal on metal echoed loudly. Ahead, a small cadre of druids stood back to back, their shared magic now appearing a dire bear. The Druid’s chant seemed to envelop it, enlarging and enraging the massive thing. With a thundering roar, it loped towards him. The planeswalker paused.

Again he raised a single hand, his bony digits clasped tightly together. He aimed their simultaneous point at the creature, violently splaying his fingers. Arms and legs found themselves removed from their body as the dismembered beast collapsed abruptly to the street, its eyes dimming to the sight of itself. The druids promptly joined the rest of the citizenry in hiding. There now stood nothing between Razel and his goal.

“You have plenty of new abilities, courtesy of the Academy,” Rokh had intoned. “You are, for instance, capable of omniversal speech. This is why you can talk to anyone and understand them. They will even understand you!”

I nodded, still uncertain about anyone doing anything to me while I was unconscious, regardless of how useful it was. The repeated implication that someone had meddled with my mind left me with a lingering feeling of unease.

“The female in the screening mentioned something about that.”

Rokh seemed amused by my referring to the thing as ‘female’.

“That was a golem, Roz. You’ll see them all over the place. Think of them as artificial servants. They aren’t really male or female, but some do end up with a preference. Go ahead and set up your space however you would like.” He pointed with two fingers, indicating the door before stepping up to it in example. “If you need anything, just focus on the room before you got your screening. The golems there can help you out if you have any basic questions.”

He stepped through it, leaving to somewhere. The room itself was to be my home while I studied at the Academy. As I explored the cavern, I found through careful focus I could will things out of the ice. Quickly I began to practice, making all manner of terrible furniture and unusual decoration. Eventually I was pleased with a basic look. With no further guidance, however, I was unsure of what to do. An indeterminate amount of time passed while I debated my next action. Finally, I opened the door to the Screening Hall. With the drawn out help of another golem, I managed to get directed to my first lesson; basic conjuring. The class was small, with less than six students. The room was bare, as if borrowed instead of assigned. Having no concept of time, I was lost in the progress as I studied, practiced, learned, and then returned to my chambers to use. I may have been gone an hour, I may have been gone a month; yet when I returned, the room was precisely as I left it. I conjured decor from the recesses of my mind, adding comforts and features at whim and will. Thus was my initial course structured; If I found I needed to learn something new, I simply went to find direction to a class where I was taught. My classmates advised me that this was normal, and that the self-structure allowed you to progress at your own pace. Once I realized I could be taught anything, I poured myself into my studies, and began to learn.

The path to the statue was conspicuously clear, allowing him to make short work of the trek to the pedestal. As soon as his mist touched the base of the monument, a sea of soldiers erupted from every alley, pouring into the heart of their city. The planeswalker stepped blithely onto the platform, paying no mind to the army descending upon him. A lone priest stood vigil between the horns, gawking in terror as fog rolled over his feet. The cleric shivered uncontrollably as he stared down the force before him. Once more a voice crept from the depths of the Dark one.

“Do you know what this is?”

Sweat beaded down the fine robe as an answer meekly came.

“Th-these are the horns of Lord Ol’as, wh-”

Two fingers rose before the icy ‘lips’ upon Razel’s jaw, silencing the man before him. A light touch to each of the stones brought them to the same fate as the gate, the two dust clouds billowing as the gem landed just behind the priest, cracking the pedestal and knocking the man from his feet. The ‘walker turned to face the way he came, raising his hand high. The same two fingers released a streak of mana, tearing into the sky. The crowd stopped; most looking up, some running back. A small black spot appeared where the energy had ended, growing at a glacial pace. As it expanded, the souls below felt a matching pull. Innocents watched from afar in horror as the first of the defenders began to float, slowly, rising above their neighbors. Limbs flailed wildly as the next then joined them, the tempo increasing with each individual forced into the dance. The militia screamed as they composed their maelstrom. As soon as the entirety of the mob was absorbed into the hurricane of bodies, there came a sudden stillness as they all hung, motionless, just for a moment. Unnervingly sudden and sickeningly fast, the flesh converged on the dark sphere. The grisly conglomerate evaporated noisily into the void, which hung for a second or two afterwards to drip gore onto the street before collapsing into itself.

The swirling mist hid the two figures, now alone in the streets. The priest laughed as he cried, his fractured sanity noting a strange comparison.

"H-how funny...you p-point like that b-blind m-mage..."